Pas De Deux
by Enchantable
Summary: Inspired by Smooth Criminal. They start out with angry sex in a closet and end up somewhere south of a relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**DAMN IT FANDOM! You know I put a note in my last fic saying that there was going to be plot in the next one but I have literally spent three hours watching 'smooth criminal' and fan-girling like a boss and this happened. Because in my world there is no such thing as unresolved sexual tension, just sex.**

**And maybe a sprinkle of plot…..maybe...okay not really.**

* * *

Later that night as she lies in bed she curses him because this is ridiculous. She hates him more than she can put into words because she is strong and proud and is not thinking about a boy. Not after all the crap she and Brittany have been through together. She's got an amazing, wonderful not-quite girlfriend who has the brightest, bluest eyes in all of Mickinley High. She thinks of those eyes as she tries to relax into the bed. She thinks of them as she slides her hand underneath her pajama shorts.

She thinks of them as her hand slides between her legs.

Until her body clenches she can almost pretend she isn't thinking of fucking him on those chairs.

She spends the week mad, half because she's sexually frustrated and half because she loathes Sebastian but no-one can make her feel the way she did when they were 's not because he's got a cock or something like that, it's because of the challenge. The people at New Directions know her, they know her too well and it's the same for her. There's no challenge, no thrill. She's got it half in her head to drive over to Dalton and challenge him to another duel.

Lord knows she needs some satisfaction.

When he shows up before the week's out, she gets more pissed off than she thought possible. He may have cracked first but he came to her school first and that makes her even angrier. He flirts with Blaine and manages to piss the entire Glee club off. It'd be a lot more believable if his eyes didn't continue to dart over to her. He doesn't even have the courtesy to stare at her chest like a common lout, no he's got to catch her eyes like she's a fucking human being. The shiver it sends down her spine is one of pure hate and has nothing to do with the fact he smirks when their eyes meet.

He's walking down the hall feeling very self-satisfied and more than a little proud when someone seizes him and drags him into a broom closet. The irony is stupid and it's on his mouth to tell them that when he's pushed against the wall. For a moment he thinks this might be an attack, then he catches a whiff of their hair and realizes he might be right, but this attack is not unwelcome. Instead he grabs her gently and pushes her against the only wall not covered in shelves or brooms.

He presses Santana's body against the wall, trapping her with his own form. He's hard and straining through the wool of his slacks, but the cheerleading skirt she's wearing isn't doing much to stop him. Her body is painfully tight against his, pressing against him in a way he's never felt before. But then, he's never wanted to slam a girl up against a wall before. She raises her chin defiantly and stares at him for a moment, as though judging what he's going to do.

When he doesn't move she leaves forward and crushes her mouth to his.

His brain goes on overload. She's softer than he expected, but there's steel there too. Her teeth nip at his bottom lip and force his to part. He's supposed to be in control but she takes charge of the situation in a way that he can't quite wrap his brain around. But when she goes to reverse their positions, he pushes his hips forward and holds her there. She gasps into his mouth at the feel of him through the thin fabric of her cheerleading skirt and when he slides his hand underneath, he only feels skin.

Something shuts down and the next minutes are all touch and taste. Her fingers undo the belt and suddenly his pants are around his ankles, leaving him only in his briefs. He barely has the sense to pull the condom out of his wallet before his underwear is around his ankles, her skirt is shoved up and he's buried inside her, her ankles locked somewhere around the small of his back.

He hesitates in the darkness, his breath coming in sharp, hot pants against her throat. It's almost as though he is unsure and that unsureness is not what Santana wants. Shifting her weight she rolls her hips and pulls him closer with her heel. A low sound forces itself out of his throat as he meets her thrust, the quest for dominance coming back. Soon he's moving against her, driving into her with long, hard thrusts that leave her gasping for air and painfully aware the last guy she did this with was a virgin.

She cums with a choked curse that she barely has the sense to muffle in the shoulder of his jacket.

When she comes back to herself he's holding her up with something that could almost be considered tenderness. It's also almost nice and that's not something she needs to be associating with him. She forces her legs to unlock and pushes him back, landing on her feet as he slides out of her. It's not the first time she's fucked in a closet and she fingers her ponytail back into it's tight perfection as she hears him lean against the wall.

"First time you ever did it with a girl?" she throws over her shoulder and is pleased her voice comes out pissed off instead of breathless.

"You wish," he replies and sounds moderately out of breath.

She smirks into the darkness and opens the closet door before his pants are fully up.

* * *

The next time she comes to Dalton.

He boards there. Everyone thinks it's because of the social scene and he lets them. He's got a single though so there's no room mate to worry about. The blinds are still shut from the partying the night before but he knows his way around the room blind. Somehow she figures it out as well and pushes him onto the bed. She's out of the cheerleading uniform but it's harder to get the tight black pants off her hips.

This time she's wearing underwear.

His fingers skim the lace before cupping her bottom. She grinds her hips down, letting him have the illusion of control for a moment before she takes over. She slides down his body and sheds him of his pants and underwear before taking him in her mouth. He struggles for air as he bits his fist because for all the money Dalton's walls are notoriously thin and for some reason he does not want people to know whose in his room.

She hears him gasp out something that sounds notoriously like a plea and pushes herself back up. This is more about lust and control, but mostly about control, so she's come prepared. She's got a condom on him before he can reach into his dresser drawer and replaces her mouth with her pussy. They still for a moment, gasping not shared air space as he fills her and she adjusts to him. She grinds on him before he can move and when his hands settle on her hips it feels more like he's trying to learn her movements than guide them.

He cums first this time, one hand skimming the underwire of her bra.

She barely comes down from her orgasm and pushes off him before her legs are fully steady. She stumbles but recovers. He doesn't ask if she's alright. He listens as pulls on her panties and zips up her jeans. This time she's wordless when she leaves and he's almost worried about her since there's no snappy remarks coming from her lips. There's just a sliver of light as she steps out of the door and it vanishes when she slams it behind her.

He should get up and close it but he can't quite make himself move. Instead he looks at his hand and wonders why it felt so good to touch her. He's never felt this way about a girl and if he's feeling slightly honest he can admit that he's somewhat attracted to her. And for some strange reason he's got a rather intense desire to cup her breasts. When he inspires himself to move he discards the condom, locks his door and drops naked into his desk chair. He spends his friday night locked in his room.

He watches straight porn.

It doesn't arouse him like she does.

* * *

He takes charge the next time.

It's one thing when a girl takes charge but he's got to be very careful she doesn't feel like he's forcing himself on her. He knows she wants it and she knows that he knows that but he still starts out feeling like a dirty perv. Like the smooth criminal he sang about. It's only when she whimpers for the first time that he realizes she might be enjoying this. So he lets go of that last little bit of fear and continues to kiss her as he snakes a hand down her body.

He pulls off her underwear and slides his hand into her. It's not the first time he's used his hands on a sex partner, but it's the first time he's done it to a girl. He lets her sounds guide him and when she starts to curse in spanish he knows he's doing something right. Except then he shifts his fingers a bit to the right and she makes a sound of pure want, grinding her hips up towards his hand. Moments later she arches up, pressing her breast against his other hand and moans his name in a way he doesn't think he'll ever forget.

She reaches for his pants but he traps her hand above her head and yanks down his pants with one hand. Somehow he gets the condom on and angle's himself at her entrance. He's not as graceful as as she is but he slides into her with a shaky exhale. He thrusts into her and she arches her hips, meeting his thrust with one of her own. They move together for the first time, picking up each other's rhythm as though they are singing a duet with their bodies.

He slides a hand around her thigh and pulls her wider, desperate to feel more and she angles her pelvis, moving him to where she wants him to be and voices her approval with something that sounds like a curse. They both last longer this time or maybe it's just because they're moving together. She grasps his hand and guides it down between their bodies. He catches what she wants and slides his fingers across her clit. He feels himself tighten but forces himself to wait, holds off until she tightens around him.

For the first time they cum together.

It seems to be a night for firsts, since she doesn't push him away. Instead they stay locked together, her legs around him and his hand on her breast. In the darkness he leans forward and brushes their mouths together. She tries to deepen the kiss but something keeps him from joining in. Instead he kissed her and then pulls back, sliding off her. She pushes herself up and sits for a moment before getting up. She gets dressed as he lays on the bed and watches her shadowed form.

"Aren't you going to tell me next time we should do this at your place?" he asks.

"Why?" she replies, "trying to see my room?"

He pushes himself up and walks over to her, settling a hand on her shoulder.

"You've seen mine," he says.

"Barely," she snaps.

"We can keep the lights off," he says.

"Not going to happen," she replies.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because I live with my parents," she says.

"And you don't want them to know you're fucking a boy?" he asks.

She turns around and smirks up at him even though they both know he can't see it.

"I don't want them to know I'm fucking you," she shoots back.

"Really?" he asks, and is moderately surprised "why not?"

"For the same reason you keep the lights off," she says.

He opens his mouth to taunt her but realizes that might mean she'll want the lights on and he's not entirely sure what he'll do if that happens. Instead he smirks and chuckles, letting her hear the sound. She makes a noise of pure disgust and turns on her heel, walking off. He steps back when she yanks open the door and when she only shoots him a look of venom he knows he's far enough in the shadows to just be a vague shape.

She slams the door and saunters down the main hallways of Dalton with her hair in it's just-fucked state so that the boys will see and wonder.

Mostly she does it to piss him off.

* * *

They win Regionals.

Finn and Rachel manage to keep their mouths off each other, Blaine belts it out and Mercedes brings it home which clinches it for them. The Warblers give them a serious run for their money and she's not sure they've won until they are announced. Everyone is overjoyed and everything fades into the joyous shouting as New Directions cheers and lifts the trophy high over their heads.

She slips off to take off her shoes and the ridiculous get up that screams Rachel Berry. Or that's the excuse she is. In reality New Directions is breaking into their couples and for the first time she isn't dreaming about hiding off with Brittany. Instead she's thinking about Warbler blazers and wondering how a hip sway can become a fucking turn on. She's just closed the door and is wishing slow death on Rachel and her love of ruffles when there's a knock on the door.

No, not a knock. It's a pounding, done by someone used to people opening doors for him.

She considers telling him to fuck off. He hasn't looked at her since she left his dorm room and they've run into each other several times. She's thought about dragging him into a closet, hell she's thought about dragging him into her bedroom but she's waited just a second too long and he's always gone by the time she goes after him. That pisses her off more because if there are two things Santana hates it's rejection and being a coward and now she's somehow got both.

But now she's also got ruffles and buttons and so she pulls open the door to find him on the other side.

His mouth is on hers before she has time to call him on his bullshit. But her mouth's open and he slips his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth before she can curse. He pushes her against the door, closing it with her body and she fumbles messily for the lock. She pants out something and pushes him back.

"Get me out of this thing," she snaps.

He chokes on the monstrosity that is the New Directions costume before finding the buttons and undoing them. She sides the costume off and kicks it to the side, leaving her body clad in nothing but the dark grey lace of her panties. She turns and presses their bodies together, but not before she shoves his Warbler's jacket onto the bathroom floor. She goes for his tie but he swipes her hands away and goes for his pants instead.

It's been a month since they did this and the brief separation only makes it hotter when he finally pushes into her. This time he curses and he does it in french and she bites his shoulder through his white shirt to muffle the moan that escapes her. They fuck hot and fast against the bathroom wall but it's not nearly as messy as the first time they did it. It's still angry and they're both going to have bruises from it but there's a relief in their actions and when she shudders against him he almost forgets why they haven't done this for a month.

She trades her ugly dress and shoes for a tight creation that clads her body in a riot of multicolored stripes. She pulls up her zipper as he fixes his belt. He slides on his jacket as she stuffs her costume and heels into her bag. Thankfully no-one else is there when they leave the bathroom and they head back to their respective teams.

Hours later she gets a text from him congratulating her on their win.

She sends him back a picture that makes him feel like a winner too.

* * *

Things come to a head when her grandmother dies.

It happens unexpectedly and before Santana's found a way to make peace. It also happens when she's being fuck buddies with a guy, something her grandmother maybe would have approved of, or certainly would have approved more of than her relationship with Brittany. She's in the Dalton parking lot, basking in the haze that comes with a really good orgasm when her mother calls her. The world dissolves as she all but collapses against her car. She just manages to open the door and hide inside before the tears come.

It's dusk out but by the time she thinks she's got herself enough together to leave it's raining and dark out. Between the rain and the tears she can barely see the huge ass building that is Dalton, much less the narrow lines that are supposed to tell her which side of the road she's going to be driving on. It also happens to be a saturday night and there's a crowd of Dalton boys about to go out drinking. She thinks to hide herself just in case but one of them is already breaking off and it's too late. She's got the key in the ignition by the time he comes over and raps on the window.

To his credit he doesn't ask if she's alright. She somehow unlocks the door and he opens it and pulls her out and tucks her under his umbrella.

He slides his arm around her back and grabs her keys, locking the door behind him. He steers her up towards the dorm room, waving off his friends as he pulls her into the dorm. She drops onto his bed which is still rumpled from their previous activity. He's freaked out because he doesn't think he's ever seen her so uncontrolled. Even her anger is controlled, at least around him anyway. He works up the loose floorboard where he's hidden the scotch he keeps on hand for emergencies and gives her the bottle.

"My abuela's dead," she says and looks at him vacantly, "she kicked me out of her life because I told her I was gay."

Words fail him because even though he knows exactly how that feels, the fact that two hours ago they were fucking makes the words frizzle in his throat. So instead he sits next to her and shares the bottle with her so she doesn't have to drink alone. He lets her cry and doesn't ask why she isn't picking up her phone to be with someone else. She drinks most of it but he consumes enough to leave his head in a fog and the world with a blurry edge.

He wakes up with a feeling like paper in his mouth and Santana against his chest. He gropes for his phone and grabs hers by accident. Her missed calls are nearing the triple digits but stop around three am. He puts hers down and picks up his own. His last text was to Blaine at two thirty in the 's a jumble of letters but the message she's with him is there as well. He drops the phone and throws his arm over his eyes against the light and falls asleep all over again.

The sound of her voice wakes him hours later.

She's speaking softly in spanish to her mother, whispering because as much as she wants to run away she doesn't want to leave the bed. She tells her mother she's fine, she's safe. She doesn't tell her that she's in bed with a boy because she can't. Not like this, not after she ruined her relationship with her grandmother by telling her something that is so much more complicated than she thought possible. That complication is laying inches away dressed in a t-shirt with his hair mussed and his forearm thrown over his eyes.

When she hangs up she lowers the phone in time to see him moving his forearm out of the way. He lays there and they look at each other silently. Something has shifted, whether they are prepared for it or not. The short answer is they aren't, but she's spent the night using him as a kleenex and there's light in his bedroom for the first time. He pushes himself up and tugs her back down. She tucks herself against him and lays her head on his chest.. His mouth is paper dry so he doesn't know what possesses him to sing, but he does anyway.

It's low and soft and french and so pretty that Santana forgets to cry. Or perhaps, she thinks, she's got no more tears. Instead she reaches down and traces the mess of scars that cover his forearm. His voice only falters once, at the same time shivers work up his spine, but he continues all the same. She picks up the tune and hums along, the soft notes of her voice catching the tune he's known since his mother announced they were moving to France. The music they make is gentle and kind and so unlike the songs they usually sing.

He expects it to feel more wrong than it actually does.

* * *

To their credit they don't lash out at each other just because of what's happened.

Not much anyway.

They have a three day marathon of rough, angry sex in the wake of her grandmother's funeral that leaves them both bruised but feeling marginally better. Their respective choirs know something is going on, but blissfully none of them connect the dots. It helps that he thinks football is stupid and she tells him she'd rather watch paint dry than a bunch of boys slam into each other and toss balls back and forth. The only time they see each other with their respective groups of friends is at Scandals or on the rare occasions when their choirs will meet up at smaller competitions.

It's almost fun to see how much they can pretend they hate each other. It's like a game, to see if they can fool the world without giving it away. Soon they add little things like if they can reference something almost romantic or if they can slip something in the other doesn't know. They get more and more daring. They'll be arguing and he'll brush a finger across her hand or she'll touch the nape of his neck. He flirts with a hot guy whose oddly resistant until he realize's she's slipped her panties into his pocket but left half of them dangling out. The next time they fuck he leaves a hickie on her throat that's nearly impossible to hide, not that she'd try.

Then one day they're arguing and underneath the table she kicks off her heels and slides her foot up his leg before settling her toes delicately in his crotch. She's always known girls are better at multitasking than boys and proves it as she taunts him with her lips and rubs him off with her toes. He keeps up for the first minute or so, until she leans forward and gives him a full view of her cleavage. She leaves him choking on his water before staggering off to the bathroom with a hasty excuse.

She follows him ten minutes later and join a long list of people who've christened the Scandal's unisex bathroom.

They continue to fight and fuck and taunt and tease for longer than they should. What they have isn't a relationship, even though his constant stream of conquests seems to shrink and then dry up entirely. She lets Brittany go because what is happening isn't fair to either of them anymore. Her parents sit her down and try to tell her that her abuela wouldn't want her to be unhappy like this. She entertains the idea for as long as it takes Sebastian to yank her underwear down and fuck her with his mouth. And then his hands and finally his cock.

They meet each other's parents completely by accident. They surprise him ten minutes before she does and she sits through an incredibly awkward introduction wearing only a trench coat. He gets hurt during lacrosse and winds up at her father's practice at the same time she's there to talk to her dad about Nationals. One day it hits them that most of the major relationship milestones they've already crossed without actually being in one. The thought makes her more than a little sick and nervous, but oddly the idea of running suddenly seems like a less desirable one.

Neither tries to change what's going on. Neither really wants to even though they can feel the breaking point approaching. She's actually almost sad when it comes to Nationals because they're in New York again and that's fucking far away from Lima. It's one of the first times she's been sad to leave. Still New York is amazing and they rock at sectionals. No-one makes out, no-one steals their songs, everyone bands together and they do an amazing job that has Mr. Schue in tears.

They win and she doesn't think she can smile any wider.

Then she realizes he's sitting in the front row cheering and she discovers that yes, in fact, she can.

It doesn't piss her off nearly as much as she thinks it should.

* * *

**So yeah, no excuses and i took a bunch of liberties with characters but oh well. **

**Hope you enjoyed it! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay quick follow up because I've still been watching Smooth Criminal on a loop and you know we weren't getting out of here without some chair smut. Oh and there's also a lap dance and some suit kink. Because who doesn't appreciate a good suit?**

* * *

The whispers make her smile.

Walking down the polished hallway of Dalton's dorm, Santana smirks at the whispering boys. By now she is almost a familiar face, and if not a familiar face then certainly a familiar body. They have all caught glimpses of her as she's left Sebastian's room, though to be fair they are usually either drunk or half asleep when she walks past them. But not now. Now it is wednesday and just after school, meaning that almost the entire student body is there. Santana smirks a bit wider. Good, that is what she wanted.

The tones of the Warblers wash over her, pulling her to the left.

Taking the turn, Santana lets her hips move as she walks, her ankle boots setting an easy tempo to follow. In the polished mirror she catches a glimpse of herself and fights not to grin at the reflection. She;s there for a purpose. Sebastian surprised her at regionals and her friends have all pretty much flipped out. Now it's time for her to return the favor and while there was a sweetness to his surprise, she's not going to be that nice. A the sound crescendos, she slows her pace and lets the song finish.

She walks forward when he starts to sing.

She saunters into the room and walks over to the yellow upholstered chair by the window.

He keeps singing but it's near thing when she saunters in like sex on legs. Because she's not wearing the cheerleading uniform or the pair of black pants that make her ass look amazing. No, Santana is wearing a suit. Or, to be more specific, she's wearing _the_ suit. Her body's clad in black that somehow manages to cover everything and yet lets him see most of her long legs and a good portion of her cleavage. She's also got the fedora on, but now it's tilted slightly to the side and part of her hair is brushed back to better show the hickey on her neck.

She's also got his pocket square in the breast pocket.

He recognizes it because he had dinner with his parents the other night and tore his room apart looking for it. Now it's sitting just to the left of her breast like it belongs there. They all turn towards her because even if they don't know what kind of challenge this is, they know a challenge all the same. She leans back against the chair, crosses her legs and runs a finger along the silk square. The black mini skirt has ridden up alms toast the point of decency and he's willing to bet a lot of money that there's nothing underneath that skirt but more skin.

She lets them finish the song, which is something he might never forgive her for since it's very hard to sing and dance while growing rock hard. When they're done she uncrosses her legs and pushes herself to her feet. He steps forward because if any of the Warblers so much as look at her he's going to slap them. Especially Brian because her dark eyes dart over to him and she gives a smile that's one part hot, one part flirtatious and all parts sex. It takes everything he has not to grab her and fuck her right there.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I demand satisfaction," she says and her eyes sweep his body before settling on his eyes, "Warbler style."

"You can't do that," someone says and he vows to kill them later.

"Everyone out," he orders.

"No," she says, "let them stay," she turns and grabs the chair, dragging it over and placing it between them, "unless you don't want them to see you cry."

On the list of shit he's going to be doing in the next ten minutes, crying is extremely low on the list. Finding out what's underneath that blazer is very high, as is taking back his pocket square and maybe stealing that fedora she's wearing for good measure. At the very tip top however is fucking her, possibly on the ugly ass yellow chair which has been a fantasy of his for a very long time. Instead he nods over at the band they've got for rehearsal and steps back because if he stays this close then he's going to do it right in front of the entire Warbler show choir.

She's asked Blaine about this because if she's going to challenge someone to a duel she's going to damn well do it right. She saunters over to the band and leans forward to talk to the man, telling them what she wants all while feeling Sebastian's hot gaze on her ass. She knows he's wondering if she's wearing underwear and she smirks when she thinks of the answer to that question. They nod at her request and she turns around, walking back over to the chair and placing her hands on it, spreading her legs and straightening her back.

He mimics the posture before he realizes what she's doing.

This time she leads, her powerful vocals sliding over the notes in a way that makes his head spin. She croons the notes and all the while her hand stays on the chair. When the notes dip and her body follows she uses the chair and he finds himself pressing down on it. He tells himself it's because wiping out would ruin the mood but knows it's because if he doesn't hold onto something there's a chance he isn't going to be able to let her finish. Then she pushes herself up and leans over the back and he knows he's fallen square into her trap.

He pulls the chair from her and spins it around. She sits in it and turns her head to look at him as he picks up the notes she's left in the air and belts them back. His hands move from the back of the chair and almost brush her shoulders as he spins and comes to rest in front of her. Her eyes narrow as he palms the sliver of upholstery that's not hidden beneath her thighs and the sides of his thumbs just brush her skin. She spreads her legs just enough to press her thighs against his thumbs but he pulls his hands back and slides back behind the chair.

She stands up and kicks the chair behind her in one smooth motion, her body pushing up against his. He seizes her hand and spins her around so that it's her back and not her front pressing against him. Her voice slides over the harmony and she mimic's the movement with her body, urging his own voice to follow. He holds his part of the harmony and squeezes her before pushing her back. She spins like a dancer and steps back to him, challenging him with her body as much as her voice. He responds in turn and suddenly their duet is just as much about movement as their voices.

It's not a dance off, because most of the time they're so close together they're moving in sync, but the challenge is all there until their voices come together, her notes soaring over his baseline. Then somehow they wind up with his hand on her lower back and hers wrapped around his shoulders. Their voices rise and fall as they move but they never get far from the chair, like the ugly upholstery is somehow keeping them tethered there.

They wind up in mirrored positions, with him at the back of the chair and her on the front. She's got on knee up on the seat of the chair, her black skirt straining with the position. He tilts his head to see if he can see up her skirt and she lunges forward, fingers winding around his tie as she pulls him forward and crams their mouths together. He shoves the chair to the side and yanks her forward, his fingers digging into her bottom as he pulls her flush against him. He barely hears the collective gasp because he's too involved with ruining the perfect red of her lipstick.

She drags her lips from his and turns to the Warblers.

"You can go now," she orders them and smirks, "oh and lock the door will you?"

They shuffle out along with the band and he glares down at her.

"You don't order them," he says.

"What are you going to do about it?" she challenges and pushes him back.

He all but falls into the chair and opens his mouth to tell her to fuck off because he's the head Warbler and she's just in New Directions but she smirks and reaches into her breast pocket to pull out her iPhone. He's been pressed against her chest more than once so he's a little surprised that the device is in there. She also pulls out a tube of lipstick and fixes her pout. Then she sets her iPhone on the ledge and hits play, sending smokey jazz flowing through the room. She saunters back over to him and lifts a leg, straddling his lap and he suddenly forgets how to breathe.

She smirks and reaches up, letting her finger trail from the pocket square to the curve of her breast and finally to the button on her jacket. He shifts between her legs and she rolls her hips slowly, letting her chest mimic the movement. Her fingers across the cheap plastic before guiding the button through the hole. The jacket falls open to reveal the tight black tank top and skirt she's wearing underneath. His hands reach up and slide down her waist to settle on her hips.

He watches as she slides the jacket from her shoulders and lets it fall. He bites his lip as she continues to move but knows better than to try to take charge. He's straining through his pants and when she rocks against him he fights not to take her then and there. Instead he lets her reach up and pull the tank top from over her head, dropping it to the ground. Now there's skin between her skirt and the lacy cups of her bra. It's perfect, Dalton red and matches the stripes of his tie and he finds himself oddly hopeful that she's wearing panties.

She slides the zip down the back of her skirt and pulls it over her head, leaving her ebony curls mussed. He makes a sound that sends a shiver down her throat and she grinds down on him again. He exhales as his hands skim her back. She reaches where they're going and undoes her bra, pulling it off. His hips arch and she grinds down on him in a mockery of what they both really want to be doing. She leans forward and pulls back, teasing him but not letting him get actual satisfaction. He's not having any of it and leans forward, crushing their mouths together.

He pulls her fully into his lap and down onto the hardness she's inspired. She leans into him and pushes her breasts into the cup of his palm as his tongue swipes into the cavern of her mouth. He slides his hand down her stomach and under the curve of her bottom before standing up in one fluid motion. Her booted feet lock around his hips as she continues their kiss and he only spares a passing thought to the bruises her heels are going to leave. He staggers to the couch and manages not to drop her unceremoniously as they slide onto it.

The upholstery is only moderately better but fits with the theme.

He shrugs out of his jacket as she tears off his tie and works at his buttons, nipping at the skin that she reveals with her fingers. She sucks on his collarbone as he fights to remember how his belt buckle is supposed to work before he gets it off. They're both naked and fucking before the next notes of the song are in. They're earlier duels have got them so worked up that it barely takes five minutes before they're cuming and trying not to confirm what the entire school is probably thinking by now.

After she leans up and smirks at him.

"So how do Warblers decide who wins?"

"Depends," he replies, "are you satisfied?"

It's a loaded question and they both know it. New Directions has known since New York and now the Warbler's are aware of what's going on. It's just a matter of time before their parents, who have gone to hell and back with their struggles with their sexuality, are aware of what's going on. Hearts have been broken and for the first time they are forced to acknowledge there's a chance more hearts might suffer what they are doing, including their own. Because the flirting and fucking is one thing, but what comes next is going to be something different. Something that may not be solved with lap dances and stolen pocket squares.

She drags him back down and seals their mouths together in reply.

Twenty minutes later he leaves with a new fedora and she keeps his pocket square.

He tells himself it's the first time he's given her something other than an orgasm.

* * *

**Okay I'm considering writing something about them going into full relationship and dealing with the fallout (there'd still be smut, don't worry) because I think that'd be interesting but I'm not sure. **

**Your thoughts? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay here we go! On a side note, apparently I'm going to burn in hell while a rhino horn rapes me. Well, me and anyone else who enjoys this this story and/or Sebtana in general. I've been a part of some crazy fandoms in my time but I've never had a shipper from an alternate camp threaten people with beastiality and hell because of their preferences. If you don't like a ship, get off it. **

**Also I have no excuse for this fic. It took on a life of it's own. **

* * *

She's nipping at that place behind his ear when his parents 'surprise' him with a visit.

For reasons he'll never remember the door is unlocked and his parents take this as an invitation despite the fact they have not informed him of this visit. So they enter just as he's about to take off her shirt. It's hard to say whose more shocked, though his mother's shriek may take the cake. It's not the first time his parent's have walked in on this situation but it is the first time they've walked in on him doing it with a girl. She staggers off him and he stumbles to his feet and somehow they all make it through the next five minutes without the world imploding on itself.

But then she walks away and his parents loose what little cool they have.

"We thought you were gay!" his father sputters.

"Honey," his mother says, "we want you to be happy," she begins.

"I'm fine," he cuts in, "look, we're-" he trails off because he's got no idea what he's supposed to say, "it's fine," he finishes.

"You are gay," his father repeats as though he's saying the sky isn't blue or the sun isn't hot, "isn't he gay?" he says looking at his wife.

"It's more complicated than that!" he shouts.

They gap at him and he's got no idea what he's supposed to do in this situation. He went through so much fucking shit to tell his parents he was gay, to admit to himself that he was gay and he's been shacking up with a chick for the past five months. As much as he hates to admit it, he realizes in that moment he's actually become monogamous and the realization makes him sit down. His father sighs and his mother makes a sound that might be a muffled curse and they both collect themselves with herculean effort.

"Are you at least being safe?" his mother asks.

"What-"

"Because you know girls can get pregnant-"

"Mom!"

He bolts up off the bed before the awkward situation can kill them all.

"I know where babies come from!" he all but shouts back at her, "look," he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at them, "we're being safe," he says finally.

"Well as long as you're happy dear," she says finally.

Santana does not let the same thing happen when he meets her parents.

She invites him over for dinner.

She also does it under false pretenses and when she uses the words 'hot' and 'spicy' he does not think mexican food. It's friday night and he comes over dressed in his version of casual but the outfit seems woefully wrong for meeting her parents. Not that he's really an expert on meeting the parent's of his sex partners, and definitely not on meeting the parents of girls.

But he's been a patient of Dr. Lopezs' and since her parent's haven't walked in on them they rally together and put on a strong face. Her father talks about Lacrosse and her mother asks about his academics and all the while she sits there with a little smirk on her face like 'aren't I so much better at this?'. So he shifts tactics and charms the pants off her parents until they aren't even thinking of the fact he's a guy but rather the fact that she's brought home a nice and decent human being.

She folds her arms and accepts the challenge with a raise of her eyebrow.

A week later he's sitting at a restaurant as she retaliates with his parents. She doesn't flirt, per-se, but she definitely does the thing where she leans forward and listens intently and then does a little chuckle that makes his father puff up like a fucking peacock. She and his mom are wearing similar scarves, his mom for fashion, her because she's playing the innocent girl and soon they're talking like friends. He half wants to tell them that this is an act, but dismisses the idea when she smiles at him with her pale glossed lips.

He's got better ways of getting revenge.

Afterwards they lay in his dorm room, both their costumes scattered across the floor. She pushes herself up and braces herself against his chest, her ebony waves hanging down her shoulder like a curtain.

"Satisfied?" she taunts in what is quickly becoming their own private endearment.

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her back down in lieu of replying.

* * *

"No," she says.

"Why not?" he demands.

"Because I'm not showing up with you!" she snaps back.

He makes a noise of frustration and drops back to the bed as she slides her panties on. Apparently rubbing him off under the table is one thing but showing up with him to one of the stupid parties New Direction's throws is off he feels like a fucking idiot for even bringing it up because he's starting to come off as a sap and that is not an image he wants to promote. Even if he's become sort of monogamous with her.

"Why are you pushing this?" she asks finally as she does up the buttons of her shirt.

"Because I haven't fucked anyone else in five months," he shoots back and pushes himself up, "because we've met each other's parents and friends and fucked in the choir room," he stops in front of her and glares down at her, "this isn't friends with benefits anymore."

She glares up at him and tries to figure out how to put into words that she's scared. No, she's fucking terrified. Because it took so much to get her to a point where she doesn't hate every person, place and thing. Because she was so angry when she was pretending not to be in love with her best friend and she can feel herself sliding down that slope. Because if she pretends that she isn't his girlfriend she thinks maybe things can go back to when they were almost perfect. But if she shows up with him, if they come out and put a label on what this is then everything is going to change.

"You know what, forget I said anything," he says turning around and going back to the bed, "it was a a mistake anyway."

"You got that right," she says and grabs her coat.

"Do me a favor and call me when you grow some balls," he throws at her as she saunters over to the door.

"Why?" she smirks back at him, malice in the gesture, "I've already got yours."

She slams the door before he can reply.

He lays in bed and fumes for as long as his bruised ego will allow. He considers going to Scandals but decides it won't be worth the shit he'll get for breaking curfew. That just infuriates him more because she's not supposed to have this effect on him. No-one is supposed to have this effect on him. He's being a fucking sap and he knows it and he actually thinks he might hate her if he wasn't half way to being in love with her. So he shoves himself up and heads to the downstairs gym.

He runs until he can't think straight.

A week goes by without a word from him and Santana doesn't think she's ever had such an intense staring contest with her phone. She's not calling him though, because she isn't breaking down. She's winning this contest because he's the one being a whiny little girl and damn it they've both been fighting to wear the pants in the relationship so she sure as hell isn't going to loose hers. So she glares at her phone and tells herself she is not waiting for him to call her, she's _daring_ him to do it.

He doesn't.

That gets her even more pissed, to the point where Ms. Pillsbury-Schulster calls her into her freakishly clean office and attempts to give her pamphlets. She chucks them in the trash and is tempted to throw her phone in there as well, just so that when he calls she won't have the temptation to pick up. In the end she doesn't because it would be too much of a hassle, not because she wants him to have her number for when he gets off his pathetic, girlish ass and decides to call her.

Somehow, and she will never figure out how exactly but will always secretly suspect Blaine and his Dalton ties, the glee club figures it out. They take it upon themselves to offer more advice and the only reason Santana doesn't slap them all is because it isn't done in song form. Most of the advice is romantic in nature but she doesn't need to be taking advice from someone who got knocked up and another who lost them Nationals because she couldn't keep her lips off a boy who can barely string two words together.

Surprisingly the only decent advice comes from Tina.

"You should apologize," she says one day as they're sitting waiting for the rest of the club to arrive.

"Why?" Santana snaps.

"Because you're wearing the pants," she says and smiles at Mike Chang as he comes in, "and I think you're the first girl he's done this with."

"Should I buy him jewelry too?" she demands sarcastically.

"Jewelry never hurts," Tina replies.

Santana sits back with a note of disgust. For all she loves being in charge, she hates dealing with inexperienced people. Sebastian has never been one to lack in confidence, even when she took his first time with a girl in a closet. Folding her arms over her chest, she ignored Mr. Schue's happy proclamation of whatever song they were singing. She hums through the notes and has never been happier when the glee club is dismissed for the day.

Until Brittany stops her.

"You love him," the blonde girl says in her direct and innocent way.

"No I don't," Santana says instantly, despite the fact that her cheeks instantly go bright red.

"Yes you do," Brittany volleys back.

"He wants me to go on a date," Santana says after a moment because Brittany is still her best friend even after everything that's happened.

"That's what people who are dating do," she points out.

"We aren't dating!" Santana objects.

"Yes you are," Brittany replies.

Santana sighs because Brittany is too good and innocent to lie. And as much as she wants to be mad at her for saying these things, she can't. Instead she looks over at the first person she ever fell in love with and feels like maybe, just maybe, she isn't in the right anymore. She folds her arms over her chest and Brittany mimics the posture, looking at her with those blue blue eyes of hers.

"Want me to go with you?"

They go to the lacrosse game together because having Brittany there reminds Santana that there is something good in the world. It makes her feel brave. Brittany can find joy in watching paint dry and immediately gets swept up in the hype of the game. Halfway through Santana is surprised the cheerleaders haven't dragged her down to join with them. She's so passionate and happy that all eyes are drawn to her.

Including his.

Sebastian recognizes her instantly because Brittany is still Santana's cell phone background. Then his eyes go to the left and he sees she's sitting there. She's still in her cheer uniform and he realizes that they drove to the game right after school. He's too shocked to even really feel victory because it's the first time he's seen her in a week and oddly that feels like a long time.

They win but it's a miracle because half the time he's checking to make sure she's still in the stands.

At the end she is and he heads over before he can loose his nerve. She and Brittany are whispering but he sees through the act as he reaches the bleacher where she's sitting. She makes him wait before she turns and looks at him, fixing him with a look he hasn't been on the receiving end of since their last duel.

"Enjoy the game?" he asks.

"No," she says.

"Liar."

She steps forward furiously at the same moment Brittany nimbly lifts a foot and trips her. He catches her before she has a chance to recover.

And just like that they're kissing.

Neither is going to apologize or admit they were wrong but their words have always been more for fighting. Instead he kisses her with everything he isn't going to say and she responds in turn. It goes from dominance to softness very quickly and in front of everyone his arms are winding around her waist, hers are sliding across the pads on his shoulders and somehow they're dangerously close to becoming a cliche.

For once, however, they aren't the center of attention.

Lacrosse players and cheerleaders kiss all the time.

* * *

"Are you ever coming out?" Sebastian calls

"Shut up. Aren't you supposed to like shit like this?"

"Waiting around? No."

From inside the dressing room Santana rolls her eyes and discards the dress. Her last prom dress was amazing, but none of the pile was working for her. They looked good but with Quinn or Rachel winning prom queen, good wasn't what she wanted. Drop dead, fabulous, _something_ better than good. Grabbing the next dress she shimmied in and reaches around to zip it up. Frowning she looks at the mirror and piles her hair on her head.

"Santana," Sebastian sighs.

"Quit whining," she orders and steps out of the dressing room, "what about this?"

Sebastian turns to look, opening his mouth to tell her that this was out of his duties as her quasi-boyfriend. But the words dry up in his throat and his mouth kind of forgets how to close.

The dress is a dead ringer for her skin tone, making her look almost deliciously nude from a distance. The mermaid cut, hugs her curves like a second skin before sweeping out past her thighs. The top borders in modest in how high it comes on her breasts but when she twists around almost the entire length of her back is exposed. Unlike most of the dresses in the shop there isn't any glitter on it, just the layers where the skirt fans out.

"That's the reaction I was looking for," she says and her smile goes self satisfied.

He grabs her wrist and pulls her back into the dressing room.

The store is a nice one and so the dressing room is a room with a full door and a cushioned bench. It isn't the type of store with cameras in the dressing rooms either which is good because what he's about to do isn't something he wants on tape. He barely flips the lock before his mouth is on hers. She presses her body against his as his hands trace the skin of her back before settling on the zipper. He pulls it down as he nips the skin of her shoulder and she has to bite her knuckle to keep from making noise.

He slides the straps from her shoulders. For all that they could be caught at any minute, he takes his time and kisses the skin. Her head falls forward as she fights to remain quiet but the puffs of air on his throat are hot as hell. The dress is tight when it's on but once it's undone it slides down her body and pools around her ankles in a pile of nude chiffon. He follows the trail with his mouth. Her hands dig into his shoulders as he works her before one flies up to cover her mouth. It doesn't quite do the job as she shudders against him and they both freeze, waiting for someone to tell them to get out.

She decides not to risk it.

"Get out," she orders.

"Excuse me?" he demands.

"I said get out," she repeats and grasps the pocket with his keys, "go get the car."

He thinks to argue but she turns and grabs her purse. She opens it and shows him what she's brought.

He doesn't think he's ever gotten to a parking lot faster.

Later she tosses her head against her arms and whimpers and comes undone in a way that makes the whole day worth it. He's glad she's a cheerleader but even her crazy flexibility isn't enough to get out of the silver handcuff's she's somehow been keeping in her purse the whole day. The prom dress hangs on the outside of his closet as they fuck and he wonders if it's really such a good idea for her to wear it. Proms after all, are chaperoned.

Then she whispers she may not be wearing underwear with it and he decides getting kicked out of a prom may not be the worst thing in the world.

* * *

"I think we should live together."

She announces this one night while they're watching a movie and sharing a bottle of scotch. He's got half a mouthful of the stuff and nearly chokes when she announces it. To be fair she's dressed in a t-shirt of his, he's just in a pair of sweat pants a pink toothbrush has taken residence in his shower caddy. But the announcement throws him off guard because even if she'll be seen in public with him they still aren't entirely dating.

"What?"

"We're both going to college in Boston," she says and ticks the reasons off on her fingers, "neither of us is going to do well around communal bathrooms and I don't do room mates."

"You've never had one," he points out.

"Neither have you," she replies.

"Our parents will never go for it," he says.

"They will if we get two bedrooms," she says.

"You want to move in together," he repeats just to make sure he's not hearing things.

"Not if you're going to be such a girl about it," she says taking a drink from the bottle.

He leans back and considers what she's saying. The communal bathrooms are bad enough without people being drunk all the time and even if he's confident she's not screwing anyone else, he's not in love with the idea of her living with a bunch of girls. No more than he imagines she's happy at the notion of him having a boy as a roommate. So he leans over, grabs the bottle and takes a mouthful of the bitter liquid for courage.

"How are we going to convince our parents?" he asks.

They fuck slow and hot, taking their time to work each other's bodies. She tastes like scotch and soon she tastes like him as well. The alcohol burns through them as they fuck with mouths and hands and when he finally enters her she is tortuously swollen and wet. She throws her head back against his shoulder as he nips at her earlobe. They move together, meeting each other's thrusts as he snakes a hand down the front of her body and between her legs.

She cums with a whimper, her head lolling to the side as her dark waves tickle his chest.

They lay on the bed afterwards tangled in each other, the scotch bottle laying empty on the floor somewhere. He twists a curl around his finger and looks down at her.

"I think we're going to need two bathrooms as well."

"You're probably right," she says.

"Of course I am," he says.

"Don't be an asshole," she says, punching his shoulder.

He catches her wrist and she slides a leg over him, pinning him before he can try to do the same. He can feel the heat of her dangerously close to his cock and he gets hard fast at the teasing. She pushes herself up and smiles down at him. Not her usually predatory smirk but something closer to the softer smile he sometimes catches in the quiet moments that seem to follow when they have sex.

"What?" he asks.

She shakes her head, leans forward and brushes their lips together. The hand on her hip tightens and then slides up, pulling her closer. She leans into him as his hand snakes around her shoulder and tangles in the curls that fall past her shoulders now. Then she pushes herself up, leans over, grabs a condom and slides down onto him. He temporarily forgets the gentle smile when she does that thing with her hips that makes his eyes roll back and the world disappear into white hot pleasure.

It's only later when he's fallen asleep and she's lingering in the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness that she wonders if either of them will get the nerve to actually speak about what they're feeling.

* * *

"I love you!"

The declaration is made furiously and with two voices at the exact same time.

They're arguing about something which neither really remembers, only that it began with a flirty boy at prom and somehow ends with the both of them standing across a table shouting at each other. They're talking over each other, each of them trying to be louder than the other but they both pause at the same the before shouting the declaration at each other. The silence that follows is deafening in spite of the pounding music and leaves them both standing there, chests heaving as though they've been running and not shouting.

"You what?" she demands.

"You heard me," he snaps because he sure as hell isn't taking it back now.

She looks at him furiously for a moment before turning heel and storming off.

He strides after her.

She's in heels so he's surprised at how much distance she manages to put between them by the time he catches her in the heavily decorated outside part of the prom. Thankfully it's deserted. He grabs her upper arm and spins her around. He keeps his hands there so she can't run again.

"What's your problem?" he demands, "one minute you don't want to go on a date with me and the next we're talking about living together during college."

"You just told me you loved me at my senior prom!" Santana says, "do you have _any _idea how much of a fucking cliche that is?" he stares down at her and she knows how afraid she must look, "do you have any idea the kind of person I was before I fell in love with Brittany?"

"You mean when you liked guys?" he questions.

"Yes!"

He glares down at her. His fingers tighten slightly on the bare skin of her arm.

"If you think I'm anything like those guys you're blind," he tells her.

They glare at each other silently and even if she knows she might be wrong she can't help the fear that sinks low in her chest. It's the fear that creeps up in those soft, silent moments when everything feels so right and all she can think of is how it will inevitably go wrong. And then she feels like an idiot and even if the anger she sees on his face is a far cry from the pity she's been bracing herself for.

He lets her go and turns off but does not run away. He does reach up as though to loosen the bow tie. It's not a clip on like most of the guys in the prom are wearing because Sebastian wouldn't be caught dead in one of those things. The tux is his too, though how she knows that she can't say. She crosses her arms over her chest and tells herself that the chill she feels is because of the breeze.

"Do you think you're the only one struggling with this?" he says finally turning around to face her, "do you have any idea the shit I put my parents through when I realized I was gay?"

"No, because we don't talk about those things."

"That's because we don't talk," he points out.

"You realize how that makes you sound right?" she says raising her eyebrow.

"Any idea how this makes you look?" he shoots back.

She rolls her eyes and he makes that sound in the back of his throat when he's particularly disgusted. She sighs and uncrosses her arms, looking out at the deserted corner. She tells herself it's to check for people who don't need to be hearing this conversation, but even she can't believe the lie.

"So what do you want to?" she asks, "have a weekly pedicure date where we get together and talk about our feelings?"

"I wouldn't want to get in the way of your standing one with Brittany," he says and his voice is surprisingly not bitter.

Santana opens her mouth to call him a stalker but closes it when she remembers yelling at him when he called during her wednesday appointment with Brittany. She's so surprised that her window for a rebuttal passes. She touches the tight pull of her hair and wishes that it was undone so she could twist a curl around her finger.

"Look I'm not saying that we don't have a reasons to be-" he motions around to their situation because he sure as fuck isn't saying 'scared', "damn it," he mutters and looks down.

"Kind of makes you wish for one night stands huh?" she says lightly.

"I wish," he replies because while one night stands were easier he's gotten used to the spitfire standing in front of him.

"Me too," she echoes.

They lapse into a silence and for once neither leans forward to fill it with kissing. There's music coming from inside but it seems distant, like something unreachable. Instead he reaches out and offers her a hand. She rolls her eyes but slides her hand into his as they begin to move to the music. Quietly they dance, the occasional sounds of their shoes against the stones. It takes them three songs to look at each other again.

"My abuela used to say that falling in love with my abuelo was the best thing she ever did," Santana says finally, "that's not what I want."

"Falling in love with me is pretty easy," Sebastian points out and spins her deftly as though to emphasize his point, "it's not the best thing about you either."

She looks up at him and he looks down at her and neither says anything for a very long moment. Because for some reason this feels as though it is a start of something new. The fear is still there, but it isn't overwhelming. Because as they look at each other both come to the realization that as much as admitting you're in love is hard, walking away from each other at this point would be much worse. The realization hits him like a truck because even if he know's she's been in love he hasn't, not really, not like this.

When she looks up at him he kisses her long hot, until Santana feels it in the very tips of her toes. Because for now declarations are furious and full of challenges, but they're declarations all the same. He doubts they're the type for soft words and softer gestures. So he kisses and and she kisses him back and her hands are sliding across his hips under his blazer when they're caught.

"Get a room!" someone calls.

"Go fuck yourself!" Santana snaps and kisses him again.

Later they're both surprised they managed to keep their clothes on for the entirety of Prom.

It's a little disappointing.

* * *

A month later they fly to Boston with their parents and move into a small apartment halfway between their schools.

The second bedroom, which is 'hers' doesn't get used very often.

Oddly at their core they don't trust people enough for the flings that seem to rule the lives of their friends. They seem to fall into different circles of friends, who aren't enemies for once, and they break up several times during a particularly tumultuous sophomore year. Of course breaking up for them means she sleeps in what's supposed to be her bedroom and they steal the hair products the other can't live without. He goes into economics while she finds her way in sports medicine. His father is less than pleased but gets over it when he sees his son has found a profession that plays into everything he loves.

By the time senior year comes around they've been together long enough to celebrate an anniversary. He considers roses or jewelry but winds up getting chocolate body paint and new sheets instead. She wears a familiar black skirt and and blazer and challenges him like they did back in high school. How she gets one of the ugly ass yellow chairs into their apartment he'll never know. Months later his mother sits in it and he can't look at her for days.

He doesn't mean to start looking for rings. Just like he doesn't mean to walk by every jewelry store. She doesn't wear a lot in the way of rings and he thinks something huge and tacky will get chucked at his head. He thinks to consult one of her friends but decides against the idea. He doesn't mind them, hell he even likes some of them, but he wants to do this on his own. He finds the perfect ring completely by accident and convinces the jewelry to hold it while he runs home and grabs his wallet.

She invites him out to dinner with a plan formed in her mind. She wears a nude colored dress that hugs her body, something that's become a kink of his since senior prom. He shows up in a suit and steals his favorite pocket square back for the occasion. They flirt through dinner but it's half assed because she's nervous. The ring box takes up most of her clutch and even if she's comfortable being his girlfriend there's no way in hell she's going to be marked by him like some present.

She's not going down on one knee in her heels though.

Instead she sets her napkin down and looks at him. He takes a drink of wine and returns the look, sensing she's about to do something. He glances down to make sure her feet are firmly on the floor. They are. He looks back up at her with a questioning look in his eye.

"Okay I'm just going to say it," she says because this whole flowering love crap has never been her strong suit. She opens her clutch and pulls out a jewelry box, "want to get married?" she asks a though it's perfectly ordinary.

He chokes and stares at the white gold band nestled in the box.

"You're proposing?" he sputters and his hand freezes in his pocket.

"No I'm asking you for the other kind of marriage," she snaps.

"Okay," he says and pulls his hand out, "lets get married."

She beams and slides the ring onto his finger as the restaurant bursts into applause at the strange proposal. They kiss for the crowd and someone sends over a bottle of champagne. She looks thrilled at herself and he can't help but grin back at her. When they leave the staff smiles at them. They get three blocks from the restaurant before he pauses and looks at her.

"You know that proposal wasn't bad," he says, "but I took points off for not going down on a knee."

"Have you seen my shoes?" she questions.

"I've got bruises from your shoes," he says and stops, "well I suppose one of us is going to have to do this right," he adjusts his pants, kneels on the sidewalk and pulls out the jewelry box. Her eyes go wide as he opens it to reveal the cushion cut diamond ring.

"You were planning to propose?"

"You beat me to it," he says.

It doesn't really surprise her anymore that he didn't whip out the ring in the restaurant like he was challenging her to a duel. She'd been struggling over rings and finally enlisted Kurt, Blaine and Karkofsky in finding the perfect one. His is perfect too, the cushion cut diamond surrounded by a band of rubies that are as red as her old cheer uniform and his school uniform. She's already proposed to him but the fact that he's gone out and bought a ring makes her feel like this is beyond the right decision.

"Yes," she says in reply and sticks her hand out even though they're already technically engaged.

He slides the ring on her finger and it fits as perfectly as his does. Like before they kiss but their audience isn't exactly the same. Finally they pull apart and continue their walk down the street though neither is quite able to wipe the dopey grin from their face.

"Hey you're not going to wear a dress are you?" she asks but there's more humor in her eyes then when they used to snark at each other as teenagers.

"Only if you're planning to attempt pulling off white," he replies.

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "I look awful in white."

He laughs because it's true and they both know it but her mother's been dropping hints about a wedding for months now. He hails a taxi and they slide into the warm leather interior, still laughing though they know her looking awful in white is hardly a cause for such a reaction. She gives the driver their address as he leans back against the leather. She reaches over and grabs his left hand with her own.

Their rings go together perfectly.

"Satisfied?" he asks in what was their first way of saying their feelings.

She looks over at him and smiles.

"Yes."

"Me too."

They are happy.

* * *

**okay like I said, no excuses. That's how I think they'd have a relationship. I'm also open to follow ups (weddings, babies etc.) but i don't have any planned at the moment. **

**Hope you enjoyed and I'll see all my fellow Sebtana shippers in Rhino-hell. **


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